


Be My Henchman?

by naasad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kissing, M/M, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Other, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naasad/pseuds/naasad
Summary: Grantaire wakes up with a stranger in Montparnasse's basement.





	Be My Henchman?

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to indicate race as best and early as I could. But if it's not clear, Jehan is black and has vitiligo.
> 
> I wrote the first half of this while listening to _Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time_ by Panic! at the Disco, and the last half while watching Bob Ross on Netflix. Hopefully, the tonal shift isn't too distinct.
> 
> Let me know at the end what you think! (Flames will be deleted.)

Grantaire woke up curled around some person of indeterminate gender in Montparnasse's basement when the asshole himself turned on the bright, fluorescent overhead lights and started clanging literal pots and pans together. "Wakey! Wakey! Eggs and bakey!"

Grantaire groaned and pulled what he thought was the blanket over his face, but in reality was sheer enough he should have probably known better.

"Fuck off, Mont," his bedmate growled, somehow managing to get away with that level of disrespect to their most likely criminal host. They (they?) pried their gorgeous - probably expensive - blood red chiffon skirt off his face. "Nice to meet you, Jehan Prouvaire, let's go back to sleep."

"Grantaire," he muttered, because that was only fair to introduce himself back. "You are an angel, Prouvaire." He rolled back over and wrapped his arm around their waist, burying his face in the mottled skin of their neck. As far as he could tell, he'd done worse things than cuddle the person he woke up next to after a night of drunken and probably high shenanigans.

Several hours later, Parnasse deigned to have one of his burliest friends - Babet, Grantaire thought - kick them both out properly.  
Prouvaire squinted in the afternoon sun. "Why does he get henchmen?"

"I'll be your henchman if you let me borrow those sunglasses," Grantaire said, completely serious.

Prouvaire swept the dark lenses off their blinding pink locks and passed them over.

Grantaire took note of the brand with a whistle and perched them delicately on his nose. "Let me guess, rich kid rebellion?"

Prouvaire glanced over with a tight smile. "Trust me, wearing skirts is a bigger rebellion than drinking and smoking."

"Ah." Grantaire patted their shoulder soothingly. "Rich kid escape. We're in the same boat then, other than our obvious gap in resources. Well, and your quite frankly gorgeous ass, compared to my own sickly pale one."

Prouvaire smiled. "So you've noticed my ass."

"How did you get away from that house unmolested?" Grantaire asked, only half jokingly.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Prouvaire asked.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

"Montparnasse has the most obvious crush on me." They sighed and smoothed down their skirt, frowning at a stain. "Well, henchman, where to?"

Grantaire shrugged. "My place? We were just talking about your ass."

Prouvaire grinned. "Lead the way."

And that was how Grantaire ended up christening his brand new washing machine, bedroom hallway, and desk, in that order.

Jehan - he figured he had earned the right to call them by their chosen name at this point - perched on the edge of his bed, wrapped in his much too big sweats and one of many, many logo tees. "We should probably put the laundry in the dryer," they said, breathing out fragrant smoke as easily as anything.

Grantaire groaned and reached for the blunt between their fingers. "This is why I hate doing laundry. Too many fucking steps."

Jehan sealed their lips over his and breathed in his smoke, exhaling gracefully. "Nonetheless, I appreciate not smelling like last night." They traced one manicured nail over his jaw. "Smelling like you will be infinitely better."

Grantaire kissed their finger and got up, headed for his utility closet. "Tell me about yourself."

Jehan tsked. "Do you get this chatty with all your one-night stands?"

"Only the ones I get high with."

Jehan smirked and stood silently as he shoved their skirt and top into the dryer, then they sighed and led him to the window. "That one." He pointed to one of the tallest buildings on the obstructed horizon. "My father owns that one."

Grantaire leaned on the windowsill, pouring something golden into two glasses and passing one over. "Distant or overbearing?"

Jehan snorted. "Both. I try to stay as far away and do as many things he disapproves of as possible."

"Besides drinking, smoking, and dressing the way you want, what else does that entail?"

Jehan smiled sadly. "Being me in general. He always wanted a son to carry on the family name, when I told him I wasn't a man, he said that was fine, the world had changed, he could still get away with a daughter for an heir, and when I said I wasn't a woman, either, he kind of... lost it."

Grantaire squeezed their hand. "I've been calling you 'they' in my head since I saw you. Is that right?"

Jehan looked up, blinking in shock, then chuckled bitterly. "I never even considered that for an option. Fuck intrinsically gendered languages."

Grantaire shrugged. "Your old man religious?"

Jehan nodded.

Grantaire grinned wickedly. "'I am Legion, for we are many.'"

Jehan laughed, throwing their head back.

"So how many languages do you speak?"

"Five. French, Italian, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew."

Grantaire spat out his drink. "Bet that comes in handy."

"I wouldn't know." Jehan shrugged. "I only use them for reading poetry." They turned and sat on the sill. "Your turn. You said we were very similar. I'm curious how."

"Well," Grantaire said, shrugging, "different reasons, same method. You escape from others' ignorance. I escape from my own inadequacy."

Jehan's eyes sparkled. "On the contrary, you are very... adequate." They took a sip of the drink. "Is this apple juice?"

Grantaire shrugged. "I had a friend who wanted me to live healthier. This and multivitamins are my concessions. At any rate, it's good to know I'm not a total failure at one thing. To hear my foster mother tell it, I'm utterly useless." He raised his glass. "To pissing people off."

"Bien dit!" Jehan said, clinking their glasses together and drinking. "And if it's not too much to ask, your birth parents?"

Grantaire scowled. "My dad was killed and my mom was imprisoned when I was a baby. I've never been able to find out if they actually deserved it."

"Do you want to?" Jehan asked.

Grantaire shook his head. "At this point, I don't care. Not like there'll be any justice if she's innocent."

The two lapsed into a long silence.

Jehan nodded and finished their apple juice. "What do you usually do when you have laundry running?"

Grantaire smiled and led them to the other bedroom. "When I'm feeling up to it, I tend to paint. I started following Bob Ross on my foster mom's TV with crayons, and then as soon as I got my own money, the first thing I bought was paints and brushes." He looked up at Jehan's blank expression. "It's an American show. She liked to find the VHS tapes, thought it made her fancy." He cleared his throat and pushed open the door. "Anyway. It's not that great, not even a reliable source of income-"

"Shush," Jehan said, staring in awe as they floated from half-completed painting to half-completed painting. "I'm taking it all in."

Grantaire snorted. "It's just paint on canvas."

"Of course you would say that!" Jehan cried, pointing at a seascape. "You're just the painter, you don't know any better!" They huffed. "It's the audience's job to assign meaning. You just have to give us something pleasant to look at to assign it to." They sighed and smiled longingly. "This rock has a friend."

Grantaire walked over and wrapped an arm around their waist. He leaned over as if to impart some vital secret. "You're high."

Jehan snorted. "No, this is how I normally am." They sighed and sank to the ground, crossing their legs. "You should be my friend, Grantaire. I need a friend more than I need a henchman."

Grantaire shrugged and sat next to them. "Okay," he said.

They sat and stared at the seascape until long after the laundry finished.


End file.
